A/N: Thanks for reviewing guys, and here's the next chapter for you. Okay, lab-wise, does anyone know what the other guys names are, other than David, Hodges, and Archie? Oh and of course Doc Robbins lol. I'll double check it at but for the life of me... I have no idea what the names are. Other than the people I mentioned, they aren't really mentioned a lot in the show. Anyways, R&R.

Disclaimer: CSI doesn't belong to me.

Murder By Numbers

EilayAdnayVolieay

Chapter Two: Victim 02112

He was getting restless. After murdering the second victim, he had returned to the first crime scene, keeping hidden from sight. As he watched the crime scene investigators do their thing at the crime scene, he kept waiting impatiently for them to find what he had left for them.

Neither of the two were coming this way, and it was unfortunate, because he wanted them to. He grabbed a mirror from his pocket and moved it around, trying to send off the reflection to one of the CSI's to get their attention directed over here. They would find no other evidence then the bit he planted, but it seemed they needed his help for even that much. The male CSI looked up from where he was kneeling, and the killer smiled. There was nothing else he could do now, except run. And he did, and he was pretty sure no one even noticed. It was the advantages of the massive trees around him; anyone could stay hidden if they wanted to.

—

While Greg and Sara were working their case, Catherine and Warrick were called down to investigate the murder of a teenage boy whose body was found in a house that had recently caught fire. Catherine saw the coroner inspecting the body, and walked over to him.

"What do you have for me?" she asked, kneeling down and looking at the body without expressing any emotions. Oh, she felt it alright— but a CSI was supposed to be used to this kind of thing, and for the most part she was, but sometimes, there were things that just got to you. And a teenage boy found dead, or a little girl... those were some of those things.

"I'd need a bit more time to be absolutely sure, but the TOD is fairly recent." he replied, feeling the victim to see what stages the body was in.

"How recent?" Warrick asked, standing above them.

"TOD estimated about three, maybe four hours ago?" he replied finally. "I don't know all the details, you'll have to check in with Brass," David added. Warrick nodded and turned to Catherine, who was just standing up.

"Let's go see Brass," Catherine replied, walking towards the house. The smell of smoke still clung to everything that had been burnt, and firemen came out of the house with no bodies. Catherine stopped one of them.

"Were there any other bodies in the building?" she asked him. The fireman shook his head.

"No ma'am, just the boy was found." he replied. "The house was on fire so we had to take him out, but..." he didn't need to say it. It was too late. Catherine turned to Brass who smiled grimly at her.

"Boy was found just inside the house in front of the door— stairs were on fire, the firemen had to put it out. Now doesn't it seem kind of funny that a young teenage boy is found dead, but not of smoke inhalation, and he certainly doesn't have any serious burn marks— just ligature marks around his neck." Brass replied, as Catherine and Warrick carefully entered the house— they didn't want to disturb the evidence, what was left of it at least.

"He might not have died from smoke inhalation, but he may have inhaled it anyways." Catherine replied, printing the doorknob. Warrick snapped a photo of where the body had been found, and the scorched stairs.

"What kind of person," Warrick began, lowering his camera, "Strangles a kid in a burning house?" he finished. Catherine knelt down and picked up a cigarrette butt. She put it in an evidence bag and looked up.

"Maybe the same person who started the fire," she replied. "Trying to... cover up the murder?" she suggested. Warrick grinned the best he could manage under these circumstances.

"Don't let Grissom know you're working theories so early in the investigation." he warned her. Catherine stood up and walked over to the stairs. Etched in the banister, the one spot that had remained unscorched, was the numbers "02112". Catherine snapped a photo and indicated for Warrick to come over.

"Would the homeowners have done this, you think?" Catherine asked, turning to Warrick. He shook his head.

"What purpose would they have? But if the killer did this, then..."

"How did he know it wouldn't burn like the rest of the stairs? If he started the fire, he would have to know that firemen would put out the fire in time to save this." Catherine finished.

They spent hours at the crime scene, but all they found was a cigarrette butt, and the number etched into the banister. There was a tiny hair found, but it was likely it belonged to the victim, and a fingerprint on the door from the inside, but not on the outside. Catherine tried picturing what might have happened in her head.

The teenager is home alone and watching TV, when he suddenly hears the doorbell ringing. He gets up and walks towards the front door, answering it, leaving his prints on the doorknob. The killer immediately turns the boy around and begins strangling him, not even bothering to close the door. The teen boy struggles to be free, and after several moments, he stops struggling. He stops breathing, his heart stops beating. He is dead.

The killer throws the boy in front of the stairs and begins hiding any evidence he may have left behind. He etches in the number on the banister, leaving a hidden message to whomever finds the body. He lights up a cigarette, taking a few drags before dropping it. This motion gives him an idea— he walks up the stairs and sets fire to the house from there, trusting that the fire will be put out before destroying his message.

"Warrick!" Catherine calls out suddenly, stopping her thoughts. Warrick turns to her. "We need to check the stairs for footprints and the doorbell for fingerprints. The killer may have used the knocker on the door, or the doorbell, to get the victim to answer. And the fire... it's very possible it was started from up the stairs. Look at the burn marks, the way the stairs are almost completely black near the top and then down here..."

"Just a few scorch marks," Warrick finishes. "I get what your saying. And if the house was on fire, the killer might not have wanted to stick around. He might have forgotten to cover his tracks. You check near the door, I'll look for prints." he replied. Catherine walked outside and opened her kit, grabbing the fingerprint brush and dusting the doorbell. Sure enough, a print was found, but that might mean nothing. Anyone could have used the doorbell at any time, but still, it was better than nothing. Not wanting to take her chances, Catherine also dusted the door knocker for prints before lifting it up and putting it with the rest of the evidence.

Meanwhile, Warrick tried lifting prints from the stairs, and finally got part of one. The entire toe area of the foot was still there but the rest was gone other than the very end of the heel. Still, it was enough to get a shoe size, maybe even what type of shoe if they were lucky. There was only that one print— either the killer forgot about it, or it was planted there intentionally. Either way, it was evidence they could use.

"Found a print on the doorbell and the door knocker, but that might not belong to our killer. How about you?" Catherine asked when they started to head back to the lab.

"A single foot print, and not even a whole one at that. But it's enough to get the shoe size, maybe a brand of shoe." Warrick replied. "And that's better than nothing."

—

Catherine and Warrick arrived at the morgue just as Doc Robbins was inspecting the body.

"You may want to look at the other body over there," Doc Robbins replied, indicating the other victim. Warrick walked over to look at the second victim, while Catherine stayed with the teenage boy. Warrick backed up and looked at both victims together, shaking his head.

"Vic's don't seem to really have anything in common. Nothing that would connect them to the same killer." Warrick commented. Catherine forced a weak smile.

"Yeah, other than their both dead. Nothing special about that." she added. Catherine and Warrick both turned around when they heard the morgue door open and saw Greg Sanders stroll in.

"Hey, anybody know why Hodges said I might want to check out the latest victim to the morgue?" he asked. Dr. Robbins nodded and walked over to the second victim. Greg came over, nodded a brief greeting to Catherine and Warrick, and stared down at the face of a young man, probably in his late teens.

"This is the latest victim that we got here at the morgue. He was actually found abandoned in a house that was scorched with flame marks."

"So as if the house had recently caught fire, but the fire was put out. The body doesn't look badly burned..." Greg trailed off.

"It isn't. Not in the slightest. But there is one thing that I think you may find interesting about our victim." Dr. Robbins told him.

"What's that?" Greg asked, looking from victim to victim. Dr. Robbins carefully placed his hand underneath the second victims neck and turned the head slightly. On the back of the young mans neck, there was a number cut into his skin.

02112.

"Well..." Catherine replied, turning to Warrick. "Coincidence?" she asked. Greg looked at her confused.

"Care to enlighten me?" he asked.

"We found that number etched into the banister," Catherine filled in.

"Really? Strange, because my cases victim has 01112 etched on the back of her neck, and the same number was etched in a tree nearby." Greg replied. Catherine and Warrick exchanged surprised looks, then turned back to Greg.

"Looks like these murders might be connected after all." Warrick replied. "Hasn't reached the media yet, so who could know about it? Both murders occurred the same night." he added. Greg looked at his watch and then smiled apologetically.

"I'd love to stay and chat but I have a date," Greg replied, walking away.

"Uh, aren't you still on the clock, Greg?" Catherine asked. Greg turned around and grinned.

"Hey, give me some credit! I'm needed at an interrogation with the first vic's boyfriend," Greg explained. "Even I have my limits." He added. Warrick grinned and turned to Catherine.

"Yeah, that, or you couldn't get a date. When was the last time you went out, 'Greggo'?" Warrick asked teasingly. Greg opened the door to leave the morgue.

"Ha ha, Warrick." Greg replied, before leaving. Warrick shook his head and turned to Catherine.

"He didn't answer my question," Warrick commented. Catherine rolled her eyes and turned to the coroner.

"Thanks Doc, we'll check by later for more updates on the victim." she replied.

—

"Greg, good, you're here." Brass replied. "We've got the guy in the interrogation room. Sara not in on this one?" Brass asked. Greg shook his head.

"She's going back to the crime scene to see if we missed anything." Greg informed him. "So, started questioning yet?" Greg asked. Brass smiled.

"Ahh now you know I don't like repeating myself. As much as I wanted to, no, I haven't started questioning yet. Got the guy some water— if we can't get him to volunteer his fingerprints, we could always use that glass. After all, this isn't his property, no need for a warrant."

"Sneaky," Greg commented. He grinned and walked inside the interrogation room.

The boyfriends name was Grant Williams, and although he was cooperating, Greg could tell he was not happy about being in the interrogation room. Greg sat down, Brass chose to remain standing. Grant looked up at Greg and smirked, shaking his head.

"Look, ask whatever questions you have for me, and I'll answer them. But then, when you realize I've done nothing wrong, I'd appreciate being left the hell alone." Grant replied. Greg was unfazed by Grant's "almost" outburst— the man was trying to hold back his anger at being called in here and it was starting to show. But Greg was used to a lot more in the interrogation room, both from his own experiences as well as just what he had heard the other CSI's talking about in the break room.

"Well, we'd be happy to do that if we have no reason to hold you. You seem confident we won't— do you understand why we brought you here?" Brass asked. Grant laughed and looked away.

"Yeah. Some chick's dead. So what?" Grant asked. Greg exchanged a slightly confused look with Brass before facing Grant.

"Not just 'some chick,' Mr. Williams. Your girlfriend." Greg told him. "Your DNA was found on a cigarette butt near the scene of the crime. Unfortunately, that isn't exactly incriminating evidence by itself. So why don't you explain how it got there?" Greg asked. Grant shook his head, frustrated, and leaned back in his chair crossing his arms.

"Look, she ain't my girlfriend, alright?" Grant replied. "Who the hell told you that, anyway?" Grant asked. Greg grabbed a photo of the vic out of his file and slid it across the table at the man. Grant grabbed the photo and shook his head.

"No, that's not her." he replied, shoving the picture back. Greg grabbed the photo confused.

"Well, DNA hasn't come back yet, but she fits the profile— same height, looks about the same age, same hair, build... and her wallet had a bank card with her name on it, it had papers with her name on it." Greg told him. "Are you sure?" he added. Grant laughed and leaned forward.

"Listen, I'm not a God damn idiot okay? I know my girl. That's not her." Grant told him. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and shoved it across the table. Greg picked it up and looked at the suspect.

"What am I supposed to do with your phone?" Greg asked.

"See that girl in my background? That, is my girlfriend. Go through the directory and call her. Ten bucks says she answers the phone." Grant added. Greg smiled briefly.

"Too bad I'm not into bets," he replied. He grabbed the photo he had shown Grant and compared it to the woman in the picture for the background. Same profile again, but you could tell it wasn't the same person. Of course, that didn't mean anything— but he went through the directory and called the 'victims' number.

"Hello?" came a voice on the other end. Greg cleared his throat and thought of how to begin.

"Uh, yes, this is Greg Sanders, I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab and... I was wondering if perhaps I could speak to Amanda Tate?" Greg asked. The woman on the other end sighed.

"You are speaking to her. Why would the Las Vegas Crime Lab need to talk to me?" she asked. Greg looked up and saw Grant staring triumphantly back at him, and then ran his hand through his hair. Brass came over and grabbed the phone from Greg.

"Yes, Ms. Tate? My names Jim Brass, I'm with the police down here at the station. We need to have a word with you, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy way, you get into your car and drive here. Hard way, we send a police cruiser out there." Brass replied.

"Oh that's not necessary, I can walk there, be there in... three minutes?" the woman replied. "I... live just down the street." she explained.

"Oh. Convenient." Brass replied. He hung up the phone and handed it back. "Greg, can I talk to you outside a moment? Excuse us, please," Brass replied. Greg and Brass stood out in the halls.

"This doesn't make sense," Greg replied, sitting down in a chair outside the interrogation room. "What purpose would there be to leave papers and cards for identification with the victim?" he asked. Brass shrugged.

"Ever think that maybe they weren't supposed to leave it there?" Brass asked. Greg caught on and nodded.

"That's a good possibility. She dropped her wallet. But... did she do it alone, or did he," Greg indicated the interrogation room, "help her? Caught the possible victims, she killed them, he had a smoke, she etched the number into the tree and the banister, and he did the neck work?" Greg replied. "But... if Grissom was here, he'd tell me not to jump to conclusions. 'Listen to the one thing that cannot lie.'" Greg quoted. Brass chuckled quietly and shook his head.

"'The Evidence,'" he finished for him. "But right now the evidence is pointing at Ms. Tate and her boyfriend, so why don't we wait for Ms Tate to get here and see what she has to say?" Greg nodded.

"While we wait, why not see if Mr. Williams in there can explain how his DNA got on the cigarrette butt there?" Greg asked. They went back into the interrogation room.

"So," Grant replied with a smirk, "Whose the dead chick? Or do you not know that?" he asked. Greg frowned and sat down across Grant again.

"We'll need to confirm that she is who she says she is, first of all. We may need a sibling or her parents to confirm she has similar DNA, or if she's in the system for anything..." Greg trailed off, looking at Grant who was in the system. Grant caught this and sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, so I'm in the system. It was a long time ago, okay? I was a kid. Legally an adult, but maturity wise? Still just a kid. And I made a mistake, and I paid for it. Did some time." he added. Greg nodded.

"Yeah, it showed up, when we found your DNA on a cigarette butt where our... anonymous female victim was murdered. This was also near some other evidence directed to the case. Can you explain that?" Greg asked. He grabbed another photograph and slid it across the table again. Grant looked genuinely confused and stared at the picture, no signs of recognition going across his face.

"I... I'm afraid that I can't. I've never been there before, I'm sure of it. And I haven't smoked since... oh God, about... two, maybe three weeks? Trying to quit. This girl..." Grant replied, no longer calling her chick, "she was murdered recently. Is there a way to... prove I haven't smoked at all lately?" Grant asked.

"Well, search warrants might help. Or, you volunteering to help clear yourself." Greg added. Grant threw his hands in the air.

"Look, I mean it— I have nothing to hide. Print me, swab me, strip my car, interrogate every single co-worker, friend and family member, search my house, ask my neighbours if I'm a pain to live next to, do whatever— I'm sorry about what happened but I have nothing to do with it and the sooner this gets sorted out, the better. Well, for me at least... maybe not so much for you." Grant replied. Greg sighed and saw the cop outside signalling that Ms. Tate had arrived. He turned back to Grant.

"Whether you care to believe it or not, we just want justice served— and to find the person who did this. If that's not you, better to find out sooner than later so we can follow other leads. You're serious when you say we can search what we want to eliminate you as a suspect?" Greg asked. Grant nodded.

"Definitely."

"Mr. Williams, why don't you come with me and sign a paper saying you've granted your permission, just to keep all the ends clean here, while CSI Sanders here questions your girlfriend?" Brass replied, opening the door. Grant got up and shrugged.

"What the hell," he replied. He left with Brass, and Greg sat in the interrogation room, thoughtful, waiting for the real Amanda Tate to come in and take a seat. She wasn't too long after Grant had left, and she sat down. Greg turned on the tape recorder before starting the interrogation— they might need to go over what she had said again.

"Could you state your name please?" Greg asked, peering over his file contents. The young woman nodded.

"Amanda Tate." she replied calmly. "My name is Amanda Tate."

"Do you have any forms of identification with you?" Greg asked.

"Of course!" Amanda exclaimed. "It's in my purse— but I wasn't allowed to bring it in." Greg stood up and went over to the door to tell the officer to bring her purse in. Once she had it, Amanda searched through it, but came back with nothing. "I... it's gone!" she exclaimed. "My wallet is gone!"

"Could you describe this wallet?" Greg asked.

"...yes, of course. Black leather wallet, my bank cards are in there, there's a photo of my niece, it has all my money and information for everything in it!" Amanda exclaimed. "And I lost it again." she hung her head and sighed.

"You've lost it before?" Greg asked. Amanda nodded.

"Yes, I'm always losing it. Sometimes if I'm just going somewhere, I'll leave my purse in the car and just take my wallet, and then I'm at a restaurant or something, and I forget it in a rest room, or at the table, or where I picked up my tray if I'm at the mall..." Amanda stopped talking as Greg held up a wallet inside of an evidence bag. "That's it!" she exclaimed. She suddenly looked confused. "But... how did you?..."

"This wallet? Was found at the scene of a crime. With the victim. Until recently, we believed it was you that had been killed, but since you're here now... we'll need a DNA test, and some comparison DNA from a sibling or your parents, but saying we believe you— would you care to explain how it got there?" Greg asked. Amanda frowned.

"You're trying to pin this on me!" She exclaimed, suddenly angry. "You think I did this!" she stood up, and a police officer rushed forward, but Greg told him not to bother. Amanda sat back down and shook her head. "Why am I not surprised?" she muttered under her breath.

"Listen, I'm not trying to pin anything on you. That sort of thing only happens in the case of bad cops and TV shows. This isn't TV, it's reality. And I'm not a cop, I'm a crime scene investigator. I'm... expected to follow evidence, use science and technology to prove the innocence or guilt of people— the right people. If you're innocent, we just need your cooperation and a few moments of your time. And if you're guilty, well, cooperation is still in your best interest. Why don't you go through what you did yesterday, and go with that." Greg added calmly. Amanda sighed.

"Look, you've got an hour of my time, and that's it. After that I'm leaving— I'm all for cooperation but you have nothing on me other than my wallet, which I told you was missing before you mentioned the crime. And before I even knew this was about a crime. That, and I transferred all my money and froze my credit cards, and changed all my personal numbers. I even applied for a new social security number. If you want anything else, my attorney has to be present at all times, and if you aren't careful, you'll have a law suit on your hands." she warned him.

"If you have nothing to hide, why so concerned?" Greg asked.

"Because even if I decide that I can trust you, whose to say I can trust everyone else? No thanks, better safe than sorry, my father got put in jail because they convinced him to confess to a crime he didn't commit." Amanda added.

"Did he ever think of filing for a lawsuit?" Greg asked.

"No, because he was killed." she replied, tears threatening to spill over. "Okay, this is what happened." She started from the beginning of her day, and Greg kept record of everything she said. It was going to be a long hour...

A/N: Well there's the next chapter, hope you like it and thanks for reviewing! It will get more into the involvement of the brother of the guy Greg hit with his car later, you'll see...